


You Can

by kissontheneck



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Cookleta, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-19
Updated: 2009-09-19
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissontheneck/pseuds/kissontheneck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archie's been brought to his knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in celebration of **storylandqueen's** (LJ) 18th birthday! :D

His eyes are desperate, though in eagerness or fear it's difficult to tell. Still, he slides down to the floor, gripping your belt for balance and you are insane with desire but also surprise. You weren't asking him to do this. In fact, you never expected him to ever do it ever. But here he was, on his own, pulling your belt back and unbuttoning your jeans with trembling hands. He's careful with the zipper and pauses, almost reverently, once he unleashes the part he is after.

"David, really, you don't have to..."

He completely ignores that you even have the **ability** to speak, let alone the specific words you said. He takes you into his hands, caresses you. It's an amazing feeling, just his soft, delicate hands on you. You breathe out deeply and when he takes you in between his pouty lips, you breathe in sharply again. Holy God, it is better than you imagine.

And for not have ever having done it before? He's practically a natural. His mouth is warm and gentle, exactly perfect for the comforting massage of this act and you find yourself lost in your head for awhile, really enjoying it completely, and it takes your knees buckling to snap you back to the real world and for you to warn him -- you warn him three times, in fact, because you're pretty sure he's not going to want to do **that** part of it. And that's okay.

And just as your gut is fighting you because you're trying to hold back and it's telling you to **fucking let go**, you warn him one last time before you can't keep yourself together any longer. You fill his mouth and he fucking **takes** it, which makes your heart soar and ache at the same time. Your hands push against his head, his jet black hair between your fingers, and you tug at it slightly as you moan. You almost have to force him off of you, and he swallows with difficulty, his face wincing in displeasure at the taste. You stroke his hair slightly in what you hope is a comforting way.

He sits there a moment, eyes closed and breathing evenly. He looks beautiful. Absolutely beautiful, and you vow to yourself that you will make him feel the same as you do right now before the night is over. But just as you're promising this, you catch a movement. A small one, so tiny and so quick it's almost like it was trying to sneak past you. A tear streaks his face and he's quick to sweep it with the back of his hand.

"David!"

You sink to the floor beside him and hold him at shoulder's length. "Jesus, David, what's wrong? Are you okay?" You feel immense guilt now. Guilt that you must have somehow given him the impression of need to do it. Even though you repeatedly told him he didn't have to. It wasn't even your idea. But even so.

You press your rough hand across his baby-soft cheek and he hiccups. The wet lashes flutter upwards and his eyes -- like pools you could sail ships upon -- meet yours and he chokes.

"Are you okay?" you repeat. And slowly, gently, his head is nodding and your heart is getting lighter. He licks his lips.

"I love you, David Cook," he whispers, his voice cracking.

And you can barely handle the feeling of your heart against your chest, unable to contain a feeling you've never even felt before. You don't know how to respond. You grip his shoulders tightly and draw him to your chest, pressing your fingers into his neck. You feel moisture drip from his eyes and into your shirt and you know it's true.


End file.
